Term Paper
by Flying Muffins
Summary: Malcolm, son of Athena had just finished his term paper. Pretty self explanatory one shot! Please R&R, it's better then it sounds! Rated T for language!


**This is a kind of self explanatory one shot lol! It's Malcolm, Annabeth's brother's 12th grade literature assignment._  
_**

**_Assignment: Write a short narrative on an experience that helped you to grow up, become more mature, come of age._  
**

**TERM PAPER **

AP LITERATURE  
Malcolm O. Clark  
Ms. Cooney

_**PERSONAL NARRATIVE**_

On my 15th birthday my life changed forever. What I mean to say is that most people are writing about moving to a new town or when they found out Santa wasn't real. Not me. I'm talking about a real life or death situation. About being able to almost accurately think _Holy shit, I'm going to die. _I'm talking about finding out who my mother is. Now there are many types of moms. Soccer moms, embarrassment moms, drunken moms, cool moms, wannabe moms, hippy moms... you get the point. My mother however is a totally different kind. The first clue might be my middle name, Odysseus is a famous Greek hero, a son of Athena. Then again, that name could be pinned on my father, William Clark. He goes under the eccentric category when it come to father type. He's a Shakespeare expert, so I know all these odd facts about him (he might have been bisexual, he had a bad relationship with his wife because she was 8 years older then him, he got her pregnant before they were married, that kind of junk you just don't need to know...) and my name is Malcolm. Malcolm is a Scottish Gaelic name meaning 'St. Columba's servant', St. Columba being an Irish missionary who helped convert Scotland to Christianity. Or so the internet tells me. But I wasn't named because of that (my dad's Jewish anyway) I was named for the strong character of Malcolm in Macbeth. Figures. That's what my dad wanted me to be. Wise, strong, brave. And of course he got me. Confused, nerdy and cowardly. Funny how Fate likes to mess with you right? Anyway, on my fifteenth birthday I got up as I always did. I'd love to say perfectly happy, just dandy and ready to go. Nope, my step brother Carl covers both of us on that. Actually, he probably covers the entire USA in good morning cheer. Disgusting. As an adolescent male I of course found fault in everything. I was convinced I was living in Hell on Earth. I didn't realize it was going to get that much worse. I woke up, lay in bed for 43 minutes, 13 seconds before eventually rousing my self enough to tumble down the 16 stairs at our apartment, missing the last one and falling on my face in front on my step sister, Janie. Did I ever tell you I have a really good memory?

"Oh god Malcolm, you're such a klutz." she scoffed. I really didn't like Janie. She was my evil step sister. She had the people at school eating from her hands and since she hated me, they ALL hated me. It didn't matter how good I got at soccer, how many times teachers kicked me out of class, no matter what kind of shoes I wore. And I didn't really care. MY response to her this time was... er... not to be written on a term paper. So let's just say I said:

"Thou puking swag- bellied ratsbane." Ha ha, the only thing I've ever liked about Shakespeare is his insults. Janie just rolled her eyes and stepped over me. I got up and felt my jaw. The carpet had left a mark and my tongue was bleeding from where I bit it. I spit out the red liquid and watched, amused, as it landed on Janie's light yellow skirt. She didn't even notice. My spirits lifted a bit. I still couldn't ignore the fact that it was June 23rd. I hated birthdays, they always ended in disaster for me. Like my 9th birthday when Carl ended up nearly chocking to death on a meatball and us having to stay overnight in the ER. Or my 11th when my Nana had a heart attack when my Uncle Chuck bought me a X rated movie (which I never got to watch anyway.) So I wasn't exactly looking forward to another. Fourteen was hell, fifteen would be worse. I wandered into the kitchen, glad we were out of school, but annoyed that that meant a whole summer with Carl and Janie. And Veronica. My step family was extremely dysfunctional. My step mother was a therapist, constantly trying to find out why I was so stoic around her. Wow. My step siblings I've already described in part. Janie was a year older then me, Carl two younger. So I was in the middle. I had been an only child until I was 8 and I still had that mentality. I wasn't excepting of any of Will and Veronica's "family time" activities. I always called my dad Will, my step mother took it as a sign of maturity. My father took it as a sign of bad parenting and was always trying to force us into father/ son situations. If I got a bad hair cut, he would hack up his own so he could complain about it to me and I would understand, or some utter crap like that. If I suddenly liked baseball, he would buy a bat and glove and offer to be the couch of the local team, which of course I quit soon after. But this story isn't about them. It's about my other side of the family. I took some coffee from the pot Will had made, put cream and sugar in and took a sip. It stung my cut but I loved it anyway. Most parents don't like their kids drinking coffee, it's supposed to stem growth or something. Well I had grown plenty in 15 years, at 5'11" I even wished it would (it didn't, and I grew 4 more inches before I stopped getting taller.) After I was done I put the mug in the sink and yawned. As I was about to leave to go downtown my father stooped me.

"Good morning Malcolm." he said cheerily.

"Morning Will." I said. My father frowned a bit but brightened up when I sat down.

"How would you like to go to Summer Camp?" he asked in a tone that told me it was that or nothing.

"Dad, I'm too old for summer camp." I told him, disgusted. He nodded.

"Well, you're mother wants you to." he said. I felt my hands clentch.

"Veronica is not my mother, dad." I said tightly, not even noticing I hadn't called him by his first name.

"No, not her. Athena, you're mother." he said. I blinked once or twice. My father had never mentioned her to me before. I hadn't even known her name. Athena, like the Greek goddess of wisdom.

"My mother wanted me to go to a SUMMER CAMP?" I asked hotly. "A SUMMER CAMP? She completely ignores me for 15 years and then she wants me to go to a a summer camp? Is she insane?"

"Malcolm, you're very special and..." he began.

"Don't give me that shit Will! If she wanted me to go to summer camp, she would have talked to me at least once." I yelled.

"You're mother's a very busy woman-" my father tried again. I cut him off.

"Too busy for her own child?" I asked.

"She's too busy for all of you!" he said loudly. I blinked again. It had never occured to me I might have siblings.

"Oh, so she's a prostitute." I said sarcastically.

"No! Malcolm you're mother is a goddess-"

"Ew, don't go all gushy on me." I said.

"Literally!" he said. "Really, she's the Greek goddess of wisdom." I sat back and looked at my father like he had cracked, and I would have never believed it if not for what happened next. A window broke with surprising force somewhere in the house. Janie screamed and my father looked panic.

"Oh gods not now." he muttered. Then he took out a small wrapped package, "It's a gift from your mother, open it!"

I took it gently and tore off the blue paper. A small card with a silver owl on it. On the other side it said: _To my son._ Inside was a pencil. A regular number two pencil. Written on it were the words _'The pen is sharper then the sword.' _Wow, a pencil just what I've always wanted. I picked it up dejectedly and I felt it change. It grew longer, about 3 1/2 feet long, made out of some kind of shiny silver metal, sharp as heck. A sword. My mom _must _be in the movie business, I decided. Will pulled me to the source of Janie's scream and there was the one sight that changed my life forever. A giant, serpentlike thing with multiple heads.

"The Hydra." my father whispered.

**TEACHERS COMMENTS: _Malcolm, I think you are a brilliant writer, you're own voice come through in the narrative, but you do realize that this was supposed to be a non- fiction piece? I will give you a C for effort, but unless you wish to enroll in Creative Writing, I'd prefer it if you kept on subject._**

**Okay, done with that. See what weird things come out of my mind when I'm bored?  
**


End file.
